"They were in want of money, and you--you married a girl without a penny." "I married a girl who was in herself a mine of gold," returns he, laying his hands on her shoulders and giving her a little shake. "Come, never mind that letter, darling; what does it matter when all is said and done?" "The first after all these years; and the, _last_--you remember it? It was terrible. Am I unreasonable if I remember it?" "It was a cruel letter," says he slowly; "to forget it would be impossible, either for you or me. But, as I said just now, how does it affect us? You have me, and I have you; and they, those foolish old people, they have----" He pauses abruptly, and then goes on in a changed tone, "their memories." "Oh! and sad ones!" cries she, sharply, as if hurt. "It is a terrible picture you have conjured up. You and I so happy, and they--Oh! _poor_ old people!" "They have wronged you--slighted you--ill-treated you," says he, looking at her. "But they are unhappy; they must be wretched always about your brother, their _first_ child. Oh! what a grief is theirs!" "What a heart is _yours_!" says he, drawing her to him. "Barbara! surely I shall not die until they have met you, and learned why I love you." CHAPTER III. "It was a lover and his lass With a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino! That o'er the green cornfield did pass In the Spring-time, the only pretty ring-time, When birds do sing hey-ding-a-ding, Sweet lovers love the Spring." Joyce is running through the garden, all the sweet wild winds of heaven playing round her. They are a little wild still. It is the end of lovely May, but though languid Summer is almost with us, a suspicion of her more sparkling sister Spring fills all the air. Miss Kavanagh has caught up the tail of her gown, and is flying as if for dear life. Behind her come the foe, fast and furious. Tommy, indeed, is now dangerously close at her heels, armed with a ferocious-looking garden fork, his face crimson, his eyes glowing with the ardor of the chase; Mabel, much in the background, is making a bad third. Miss Kavanagh is growing distinctly out of breath. In another moment Tommy will have her. By this time he has fully worked himself into the belief that he is a Red Indian, and she his lawful prey, and is prepared to make a tomahawk of his fork, and having felled her, to scalp her _somehow_, when Providence shows her a corner round a rhododendron bush that may save her for the moment. She makes for it, gains it, turns it, dashes round it, and _all but_ precipitates herself into the arms of a young man who has been walking leisurely towards her.